


The Sunshine Hours

by mermaiddrunk



Category: Dracula (TV 2013)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-22
Updated: 2013-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-05 13:24:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1094358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mermaiddrunk/pseuds/mermaiddrunk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A vague continuation of A Different Kind of Hunger. This time set weeks later and from vampire Lucy's POV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sunshine Hours

**Author's Note:**

> I've now watched all of Dracula, up until episode 8, and I'm pretty ambivalent over certain creative decisions the writers have taken with Lucy's character. At the same time, I still find this incarnation of the character to be interestingly complex and worth writing about. No real spoilers, just love :)

The sun.

 It is warmth and light, and life. It is everything Lucy is not and yet she is drawn to it, like moth and flame. They have given her a mere two hours. Anything beyond that would be dangerous, would be risking hellfire, damnation and the final end to it all. A temptation Lucy would have given into a few weeks ago but now, she finds herself slightly more interested in living,  if only for moments like these, moments when the warm, white rays splatter her cheeks, her neck, and creep over her collar bones. She lifts her hand and spreads out her fingers. The beams of light poke through the canopy of leaves provided by the large orange tree in the centre of the courtyard. She watches in fascinated delight as the light ripples and plays over her knuckles.

The irony is that it is here, in this overgrown courtyard, that she finds her freedom – a courtyard on an estate owned by the now all but expired Order of The Dragon. Initially purchased to imprison and torture creatures such as herself, it is now abandoned and the deeds held by Jayne Wetherby.

It has been three weeks since they’ve left Van Helsing’s lab. And she does not miss the putrid smell of rotting leaves and medicines that permeated the basement. Of course, she is not completely free. Her nights are still spent in a cage. It is much bigger and smells of frankincense. It has a night dresser filled with oils and lotions she hardly uses anymore and a wardrobe filled with dresses she never wears anymore. It has a bed. And yet, it is still a cage. 

They still watch her to make sure she doesn’t scale the walls to seduce some poor innocent, suck them of their life essence and leave them dying in some dank side alley. She wants to tell them that it has only happened once, and one time is not nearly enough to discern a pattern of behaviour. She wants to tell them that she would much rather stand here, in the spring garden that smells of orange blossoms and fresh earth than walk the filthy streets of London to stalk a flower girl who would probably die of the consumption within a year anyway, but she cannot, because every so often, she is struck with a pang of that old craving, and finds herself overcome with the desire to feel a hot throbbing jugular against her lips. At these times, she calmly finds whoever her minder is for the day and asks to be led back to her cage, where she will pace and swallow back thoughts of blood and flesh and sweet breath until she feels sane once more.

Lady Wetherby remarks on her extraordinary control. “It has taken some time, but not nearly as much as I had anticipated. My dear, you are the only nosferatu I have encountered who has been able to show such remarkable restraint. The only one save for…” She did not finish her sentence that time, but averted her eyes and fidgeted with the empty blood bag in her hands.

Lucy often wonders why they did not simply destroy her after her transformation had come to light. Even when she had begged for death, half-starved and fully crazed, even after she had committed the most unspeakable acts.

All those _children_.

She had expected the huntsman to annihilate her, as was her duty. Besides, it would not be the first time that Jayne Wetherby would aid in her corruption. But Wetherby did not lift that crossbow when the moment arose. Neither did bloody Harker, who, by then, had his head so far up the Order’s derriere, Lucy was surprised he could see at all, let alone wield a stake. By the end, it seemed they had counted her a product of Grayson’smalice. They saw her as victim, not villain.

Of course, it is also entirely plausible that she is kept alive for another purpose entirely. “The Order has always wanted an ally in the vampire world,” Wetherby remarked one rainy afternoon, as she swiped her thumb over Lucy’s chin, capturing the last of the blood the young vampire had just consumed. Nothing more was said on the subject, but the words, like the scent of Jayne Wetherby’s musky perfume, lingered long after the huntsman had departed.

It has taken her a while, but as she stands in the sunlight, with Van Helsing’s serum (cleverly adapted to be effective for shorter periods without the need of all that painful electroshock business) snaking its way through her veins, Lucy Westenra is infinitely grateful for this life. Never more so, than when she hears that specific, light-footed cadence making its way down the stone corridor and towards the garden.

At the sound, scent, _sense_ of the other body entering the courtyard, Lucy forgets sunlight and warmth; she forgets blood and flesh, as she finds herself confronted with her truest source and desire. 

“Mina.” Two syllables, extracted from four, Germanic in origin, meaning _resolute protector._ It is a strong name, a solid name, yet Lucy breathes it as if it were a delicate thing to be cupped between gentle palms.

Mina’s smile is bright and disarming. Her eyes, more blue than grey this day, flicker from the sun-tipped leaves to Lucy’s sun-stained face.

“I imagined I’d find you out here. Lapping up the warmth.” Mina removes her beret as she walks towards Lucy. Her chestnut hair is up in what was, hours before a morning shift at the hospital, a neat French twist and now wispy strands curl at the nape of her neck and Lucy fingers immediately twitch for want of touching it. “If I didn’t know any better, I would think you’re part feline.”

Lucy smiles, the edges of her lips involuntarily dragging up past her teeth as she says, “Well, I am part _something_.”

“ _Lucy_ ,” Mina sings out in an exasperated voice, infinitely softened by her smile. Here, in the light, away from the shadows and rusty cage bars, they can make trivial of such things, if only for a moment.

Mina takes another step forward and suddenly she is right there, smelling of iodine and cherry blossoms. Lucy’s nostrils flare and she licks her lips before saying. “How are things at the hospital?”

“The same,” Mina replies with the careless shrug of a shoulder and Lucy takes the cue. They won’t be speaking about Mina’s work right now. Sometimes this is all they talk about. About Mina’s worries over the hospital budget, her concerns over the number of recent chest infections, her excitement over assisting a particularly complex operation - these are the things Mina’s world revolves around when she is not at Quincey Manor; when she is not wrapped up in Lucy.

 “How much longer do you have?” Mina asks as she reaches up and plucks a small, green leaf from Lucy’s thick tangle of hair that she wears loose now, always .

“Little under two hours,” is Lucy’s breathless reply. And she looks up and past Mina, to the large bay windows on the second floor, behind which Lady Wetherby had been ‘supervising’. But her figure is absent and Mina says in mock sombreness, “She has taken leave and I fear we are all alone.” The last word is whispered, as if to safeguard a secret.

Lucy swallows again and swears she can taste the fragrant summer air against her tongue. “Goodness, whatever shall we do to occupy ourselves?” _Thudthudthud_ goes her vampire heart.

“Well, Miss Westenra, I thought we might take a turn around the garden.” Mina holds out her arm gallantly and Lucy takes it with a slight bow of her head, holding back the smirk that pulls at the corners of her mouth.

This playfulness, this frivolity is new and rare and Lucy covets it selfishly. Her world has become brutal and grotesque, but here, with Mina she feels remnants of her old life, her old self creep back and twist around her very core until she can almost pretend that all is well, all is as it was.

_Almost._

\---

It began in her cell. It began with a confession. It began with the key around Mina’s neck and the sound of that heavy lock falling to the ground.

When the kiss happened, when it finally happened with Mina, it was unlike anything she could have foreseen. To be a vampire was to feel everything tenfold. Pain, pleasure, desire… fear. These were the primary emotions she had experienced that night in her rabbit-hutch. The urge to rip Mina’s heavy frock from her body and sink her elongated canines into every soft, smooth surface was overwhelming, but so was the urge to run, to push Mina out and beg her to throw away the key. To her credit, Lucy did neither. Instead, she allowed Mina to press soft, curious, trembling lips to hers. It was the slightest of kisses, feather-light and barely there.

There were no explosions of passion or fervent words, spoken against hot skin like she had imagined before all of the horror, when she was just a girl in love, dreaming that one day she would be loved in return. In her virgin mind, Lucy had seen a love story written by Brontë, all wild desire and untamed passion. Mina’s wild curls falling over her face, a face contorted in beauty and pleasure. These were the vague and obscure imaginings of the young Lucy, gracefully inexperienced and glittering with pretence.

And yet this softest, most hesitant of kisses had to Lucy meant everything. With ragged breath, Mina had pulled back, but remained close enough so that their eyelashes were practically intertwined.

“Should I stop?” she asked in a voice Lucy had never heard directed at her. A voice heavy with apprehension, but also something else.

“Perhaps.” Her voice trembled and her hands shook like an addict gone too long without the sharp taste of cheap brandy.

Mina had swallowed then, her eyes never leaving Lucy’s. And when she leaned back in, the kiss was hard and urging and Lucy could not have stopped Mina if she tried. Of course she did not try. Because within seconds, her arms were around Mina’s warm body, a body filled with life and blood.

Mina tasted like hot, sweet tea, the kind Lucy used to drink before bed when she was little. It was all tongues and moans and the softest of sighs and Lucy was filled with unimaginable wonder, still, it was just a kiss. They both knew it couldn’t be more. Not there, not like that.

But it was enough. For Lucy, who had spent weeks in the darkness of her cage and the darkness of her mind, it was enough.

And when Mina began to smell appetising in a way that went beyond her natural scent, when the demon inside beat its fists against her ribcage, gnashed its teeth and clawed to come out , when the blood Lucy had sated herself with began to work out of her veins, that was when Mina had to leave. There was regret in the parting and very few words spoken, but it was enough.

Of course, there are the nights when Lucy’s stomach churns with foul acid and her teeth champ at the stale air, nights when her hands curl around the bars and she trembles in madness and in yearning for the warm copper taste of fresh blood and there is no restraint. She snarls at them when she is like this, using the foulest of language she can muster, cursing them all for not letting her out, for not allowing her the simple pleasure of a feed. These spells of insanity last until they mollify her with bags of stolen blood, until the burning flames in her belly have been doused, and then she is calm and the shame takes over and she is filled with self-loathing.

It is not an unfamiliar emotion and she remembers it from before. When, in quiet moments, stripped of fancy gowns and layers of rouge, lonely and unrequited, the human Lucy would crumble under insecurity. How telling, that these are the emotion which prove the most pervasive.

It is at these moments, post frenzied-feeding, when she is caught in a restless kind of disgrace, that Mina steals in. Lucy has ceased arguing with her. It is no use. The young physician enters the cage at will, ignoring objections and threats.

She drags Lucy down onto that large fluffy mattress and moulds her body around her, her skirts spread out underneath her. With infinite tenderness and patience, she coaxes Lucy back to her, telling silly tales and anecdotes, using playful touches and careless caresses.

 “I bought a new bonnet today,” Mina would say as she intertwined her fingers with Lucy’s or drew abstract patterns over her palm. “It’s in the new French fashion - brim trim with sapphire taffeta and emu feathers.” And Lucy would roll her eyes and hold back the smallest of smiles, because Mina, who has no real interest in bonnets, was quoting straight out of Ladies Fashion Weekly.

“The narrow trim will do nothing for your bone structure,” Lucy would murmur as if only vaguely interested and Mina would just smile and continue. “Oh, and Bertha Mills was in the hat shop, harassing some poor attendant.”

“Does she still have that neck condition?” Lucy would ask, trying to ignore the exquisite sensation of Mina’s breath against her cheek.

“What condition?”

“The one by which she cannot stop eating and is thus bulging out of her collar?” At this, Mina would burst out in laughter, cover her mouth repentantly and shoot her companion a scolding glance. “Lucy!”

“It’s true, is it not?” She would smirk, because it _was_ true.

“She did look rather… toad-like.”

And here, Lucy would laugh for the first time in days and it would be marvellous.

Sometimes, however, Mina wouldn’t talk. Sometimes, they would lay on that mattress, facing each other as they did when they were children, one pale as winter and the other dark and rosy-cheeked. Snow White and Rose Red, Lucy’s long-dead father would call them. Sometimes, Mina would run her fingertips up Lucy’s cheeks, down her forehead, across the bridge of her nose. “Lucy,” she sometimes breathed, with no intent on a sentence, as if the name had meaning within itself.

 _Lucy_.

 The once, very recently Mina ran the fleshy pad of her thumb over the sharp tips of Lucy’s new teeth and shivered as she did so.  “The change is imperceptible, but there. Blunt to erect in seconds, and I hardly noticed,” she had remarked in a sort of marvel. Lucy said nothing, but allowed herself to be studied in silence. It was only when Mina traced her finger down Lucy’s chin and across her neck and over her collar bones and swirled the tip of that curious index finger around a rosy, puckered nipple under the thin nightgown that she gasped.

 “They’re very much like these, in fact.” Mina said softly, her eyes, heavy-lidded and trained on the circular motion of her finger. “How curious.” And Lucy had growled then, because she was fighting two urges at once and that was never easy.

And then they were kissing and at least one urge was satisfied and Mina’s thigh, hot even through layers of useless material was between her legs and dear, darling, beautiful Mina was breathing heavily into Lucy’s hair, neck, mouth and it was all _very_ Brontë, until Lucy tangled her pale, slender fingers into the curly mass that was Mina’s hair and Mina had moaned loudly, which seemed to startle them both. And for a second, they just stared at one another, Mina breathing heavily, Lucy watching Mina’s lips as she breathed heavily. And finally Mina said, “If I do not leave now, I shall be late for my shift.” And Lucy said, “Well, we cannot have that.” And they stared at each other for a beat longer before Mina detangled herself from the trembling vampire and let herself out of the cage.

There exists a kind of unrestrained, unexplored wildness to Mina when she comes to Lucy, when she kisses her mouth and touches her body. Almost enough to convince Lucy that it is a mutual desire. That perhaps Mina truly wants what Lucy craves. 

But they do not speak of these kisses in the light of day, or when others are around, and at times, Lucy wonders if they are products of her fevered imagination.

 In the cold loneliness of her cell, Lucy cannot imagine a world where Mina comes to her for comfort and… love. It is not like before. When they danced and dressed and cried and slept together, as Mina once so scathingly put it. Because now Mina now knows how Lucy feels and the weight her actions carry. That Mina would choose _this_ , chose Lucy is an unreal concept. And Lucy finds herself perpetually terrified of waking from this dream.

___

And now here they are.

Strolling through the gardens, to where the grass grows high and the breeze is scented with that small pale flower, whose name Lucy does not know. They come to an ancient swing-set that to Lucy has always seemed oddly lonesome in the great garden. The bench is big enough for two and they sit there as they have for the past few afternoons, shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip, gently swaying as the rope creaks against the branches of the old ash tree.

Lucy is momentarily distracted by a tiny blue bird that flits between the branches before flying off and out of the garden.

“Sometimes, I wish for wings,” Lucy murmurs, more to herself than anyone else.

“And where would you fly off to?” Mina leans back and lifts her head to the sky, exposing her long, smooth neck to the afternoon breeze and suddenly Lucy is distracted by something else altogether.

“Somewhere warm,” she hums. “Somewhere exotic. India, perhaps.”

Mina’s smile widens. “I’ve always wanted to see the colonies. India. _Africa_.” Her voice grows wistful. They do not mention the Americas. They’ve had enough of Americans. “Like a character in one of Conrad’s novels.”

“Or perhaps _Arabian Nights_ ,” Lucy offers with a raised eyebrow and a salacious grin and Mina burrows her face into Lucy’s shoulder and giggles against the soft, cool skin under her thin frock.  This is the closest Lucy will get to actual flirtation and even now, her cheeks feel hot, as she was blushing. It is always Mina who initiates contact and sometimes Lucy thinks she will die (again) before Mina touches her.

“When shall we fly away?” Mina asks, cheeks a-blush and eyes bright with mirth and Lucy’s heart sinks. Because of course, she cannot fly anywhere, not while the bars of her birdcage hold true. But to Mina she says, “Whenever you like, darling.”

They sit together in silence for a time, and Lucy calculates that she has at least an hour left before the daylight is taken from her and she thinks suddenly, and with a wild kind of panic, that it is not enough. The sunlight hours and Mina’s heady kisses. These things are not enough anymore, and with this realisation, comes a profound sense of hopelessness.

“I received the most interesting offer today.”

“Mmm?” Lucy finds this newfound despair to be awfully disorienting.

“Dr Seward…” Mina continues obliviously, “you remember I spoke of him?”

“If I recall, you said he was awful and grotesque-looking.”

Mina’s laughter rings clear through the air, “I said no such thing.”

Lucy rolls her eyes, “Well, is he not?”

“No,” Mina replies in amusement. “If anything, he is genial and rather handsome… in a serious sort of way.”

“Dull then,” Lucy counters and for no good reason that she can think of, the tips of her canines feel slightly sharper.

“No, not dull, just…” she bites down on her lower lip as she searches for the word, “-sombre.” Lucy makes a non-committal sound, but her gaze is fixed on Mina, as if trying to read invisible words written across her face.

“In any case, he mentioned that he might be looking for an assistant this summer, due to-”

“I thought he was a psychoanalyst? You’re a physician. What use could you possibly have in assisting him?” She immediately regrets the crispness in her tone, but her words these days are quick and unpredictable. To be fair, her words have always been quick and unpredictable.

“Well, yes” Mina continues as if she doesn’t notice how Lucy bristles beside her, “but it could be fascinating. He was telling me about a gifted student of his in Zurich, Carl something or other, who has been writing some interesting theories regarding the psychology of the occult phenomena. I imagine it could give me more insight into…” she waves a hand casually about, “some of the things we’ve experienced. Either way, Dr Seward has been very accommodating.”

“I’m certain he was,” Lucy mutters and suddenly the day seems to have lost some of its shine, because Dr Seward who is genial and handsome and accommodating and… and a man.

Mina turns suddenly and appraises Lucy with an unreadable expression and the desire to shrink away from that intense gaze is overwhelming.

“What’s the matter?” Mina asks softly, her voice losing some of that excitable energy it carried whilst she spoke of her work.

Lucy shakes her head, embarrassed and suddenly so very tired. “It’s not, it’s… nothing.”

“No, it’s something,” Mina waits until Lucy’s complex green eyes meet hers. “Tell me,” she says in that way that only Mina can.

And Lucy sighs, because she promised herself that she would not give voice to the gnawing and the aggravating worries that fluttered inside her ribcage. Yet it seems that the control, Lady Wetherby had so praised is limited and unfocused.

“I should get back to my cage,” she says softly. “I am beginning to feel all too hot.”

Mina presses two fingers to Lucy’s wrist and says, “Your pulse still beats strong.” But Lucy stands up suddenly, causing the swing to creak.

“Still, I would like to go inside now.”

Mina’s eyes darken in confusion and hurt. “Have I done something?”

“Just leave it, Mina!” There’s something desperate about the way she yells it, and Lucy immediately regrets raising her voice, especially when Mina flinches back like a wounded animal. “I’m sorry… I truly am. It’s only-”

“What?” she asks, standing to face Lucy.

“Why do you come to me, Mina? Why do you stay, embroiled in this… situation when you have the wings to escape?”

Mina’s brows knit together in confusion. “Is it not obvious? Lucy, I shall not leave you. You are my dearest friend.”

Lucy feels suddenly ill. “ _Friend_. Yes, of course.”

Mina seems to have caught her error, because she steps closer. “Lucy, you left us. You were gone.” She exhales tremblingly and her eyes, clouded with emotion stay steady Lucy’s. “And when you came back and you were here, but also… also not.”

Lucy shuffles on her feet. For reasons unknown, it makes her uncomfortable to hear Mina talk about her death and resurrection. “And I wanted… I want to do everything to-”

“Save me?” Lucy asks in a flat voice.

“Help you.” Mina corrects and searches Lucy’s face for understanding. And Lucy nods once, but cannot look at Mina, to look at Mina is to _feel_.

“You’re an excellent physician, Doctor Murray. Your prescription of kisses and careless flirtation has brought the colour right back to my cheeks.” She’s being vindictive. She can hear the venom in her voice, but she cannot stop herself. Mina’s face is a tableau of hurt, but also guilt. “I want you to be happy again.”

Lucy swallows down a scream. “I am not your pet project, Mina.”

“I never said you were.” And now Mina’s voice raises and two birds, two fluffy little birds, escape from the branches, in search of a quieter space.

“And yet you continue to placate me,” Lucy responds.

“It is not placation.”

“But is it not desire,” Lucy’s voice cracks, her hands tremble, but she continues. If she’s spilling her guts, she may as well throw it all out there for the crows to pick apart. “It is not this want or lust that eats at the very fibres of my being! It is not… love.”

“How can you know what I feel?” Mina asks in a voice raw with feeling.

“Because you are not like me or even, even Jayne. You are not so… inclined.” This may be the first time that Lucy has admitted that she _is_ so inclined. And the words float around their heads before being carried away by the light summer breeze. “For me, your touch is fire.” Lucy clenches her jaw, but still, her eyes grow hot with tears. “You are warmth and light. You are life.” She shrugs a delicate shoulder. “But for you, it is like medicine. You use it to heal, to comfort.”

Mina opens her mouth to protest and Lucy takes a step back, into the sunlight that now feels cold and so very far away. “I do not want that comfort.”

“You have no idea-”

“But I do,” Lucy interrupts. “Because you did not want me.”

And Mina looks suddenly as if Lucy had reached over and slapped her. “Before…when I told you of my… feelings.” Lucy stutters as if she hasn’t said these words million times in her mind. “You didn’t want me.” There is a touch of accusation in the statement, and it seems old wounds still ache.

“I did not know what I wanted,” Mina confesses softly.

The words clog up Lucy’s throat before she utters, “And now?”

Mina takes a deliberate step towards Lucy, who is abruptly thrown off balance, because Mina is right there, in her space, driving out the accusations and blame with teary eyes and a wilful expression.

“You were gone,” Mina says in voice that quivers. “You left _me_ ,” she emphases the change in pronoun from her earlier statement.  “And it was as if… as if something inside of me was buried in that damned casket with you. And I was lost and empty.” She swallows and looks down as shame colours her cheeks. “And for a while, I was filled with _him_ and I was consumed, but even then, even then he never had all of me, because you had taken a piece that I could not get back.”

Tears run freely down Mina’s cheeks as she speaks and Lucy wants to runs her palms over Mina’s face and wipe them away, as if she were a little girl, but she does not. She listens in horror and fascination as it is Mina who spills all. “All my life, my desires, by ambitions have been shaped by the will of men. Jonathan, my father, Ale- Dracula.” She stammers on the last name. “It is only now, in the absence of these figures that I find myself.” She lifts her stormy gaze to Lucy’s. “And I find that which is most precious to me.”

The clarity and determination with which Mina speaks, sparks something within Lucy that she has not dared to feel. Something like hope.

“Mina-”

It is Mina now, who cuts her off. “So do not, Lucy, my dearest friend, presume to tell me what my feelings are. Because when we,” and here she falters for a moment, and looking incredibly fragile continues, “When we kiss, when we touch, it is not comfort I offer. I cannot pretend to be so magnanimous. My motives are far more selfish.”

“I don’t understand,” Lucy breathes and Mina smiles tremblingly.

“Lucy, with you I am complete. That missing piece suddenly fits, where it did not before, because _I_ am different. You are not the only one changed, you see. I may not have fangs or--or eternal life, but there is a hunger within me. And there is want,” she exhales shakily, “and there is love. And it is petrifying.”

Lucy feels terribly unhinged. This was not the direction she had anticipated the conversation to go. Admittedly, she should be elated, but instead, she is filled a cautious, tentative kind of joy, intermingled with absolute terror. Because Mina is here, saying everything she’s ever wanted to hear and she has no idea what to do with it. With trembling fingers, she reaches out and ever so softly runs her fingertips over Mina’s mouth, as if assuring herself that Mina is real, that the words she has spoken are real.

“Where do we go from here?” she asks quietly, almost sheepishly.

Mina captures Lucy’s wrist and places a tender kiss to her pulse point, allowing her lips to linger for a second. “We go to back inside,” she says. “Your pulse is slowing and the serum is wearing off.”

Lucy nods, but makes no action to move.

“We will find a way for you to walk always in the light,” Mina avows, closing the gap between them, until they are but a breath apart.

“That’s alright,” Lucy whispers. “I imagine shall find contentment in the darkness.”

“Yes,” Mina says in a promising voice that has Lucy’s stagnant heart racing. “I imagine we shall.”

**~fin**


End file.
